Raging Sea and Trembling Earth: Disciples of the Horned One Volume Two (Soul Force Saga Book 2) (22 page)

T
he sun was peeking
over the walls when Jonny finally had everything he thought he’d need to make his escape from the capital. He adjusted the coil of rope he’d stolen from the ruins of a hardware store. Assuming he made the jump across to the wall he’d need the rope to climb down without breaking his neck. His first attempt had ended before it began. He’d planned to jump from the roof of the Red Rooster Inn, but when he arrived he found the third floor sunk into the second. The screams of the injured filled the air around the inn. Jonny had made himself scarce in a hurry.

Now he was headed to his second choice, The Iron Path dojo. They had a flat roof where the students liked to train on nice days. Jonny hoped the masters and students were out doing their civic duty and helping with the injured.

Every few steps he glanced up at the sky. The three sorcerers patrolling above the city had their eyes pointed up and out, not down. Jonny was just another speck on the ground. Far beneath the notice of such high and mighty people, or so he fervently hoped.

The dojo was a beautiful red building with decorative tile on each floor’s overhang. Most of the tiles now lay on the ground around the building, smashed into so much rubble. At least the structure itself seemed intact. He looked up. It measured about twelve feet from the edge of the roof over to the wall. That was a hell of a jump, but if he got a good run at it he might just make it. It was his best option at the very least.

He strode up to the big double doors with their bronze dragons and pounded on them with the hilt of his dagger. He waited a full minute before trying again. When another full minute had passed he slipped the thin blade into the narrow gap between the doors. He worked it up until he met resistance. He grunted and wrenched on the blade. A clatter came from behind the doors and they swung in a little. He shoved them open enough that he could squeeze through and closed and barred them again.

He frowned. If the doors were barred from the inside, how did the students plan to get back in?

“Can I help you?” An old man with a wispy white beard and wrinkled bronze skin hobbled into the entryway, leaning on a cane. He had to be at least ninety.

“I’m with the city guard. We’re going from building to building, making sure everything is okay.”

The ancient figure cocked his head. “You broke into our dojo to make sure no one had broken into our dojo?”

Jonny had to admit when he put it that way it did sound pretty stupid. It would sound even worse if he backtracked now. “That’s right. If you’ll excuse me I need to check your roof.”

“Is that what the rope is for?” The old pest made no effort to move aside.

“It’s guard business. Please get out of my way.”

“I think not. I think you’re a liar and a thief who stole that uniform along with the rope. If you truly are here in an official capacity we shall summon a squad of your comrades and ask them. I see no reason for an honest guardsman to object to that.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

Jonny reached out to move the old-timer aside. A moment later he found his arm pinned behind his back. Despite his apparent age the old man had a grip like iron. Jonny was shoved back toward the door. He stumbled and fell to his knees, the carefully coiled rope spilling to the floor.

Jonny snarled, leapt to his feet, and dragged his sword free of its sheath. It had been a long night and he was out of patience. He’d killed one person already tonight. What was one more?

“Just who are you anyway?” Jonny asked.

The old man bowed. “Grandmaster of the Iron Path, Fo Shen.”

Jonny swallowed, a good deal less confident about his chances of getting past now. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to get up on the roof.”

“I have no wish to hurt you either, but you are clearly not who you claim to be. I have no objection to waiting for the actual guards to arrive and settle this peacefully.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t work for me.”

Jonny lunged at Shen. The old master dodged aside and tripped him. Jonny staggered and spun back to find his opponent leaning on his cane, a look of serene disinterest on his face.

Jonny hated being mocked. He wanted to kill the old master now just to show he could.

He eased closer, sword poised to dart in at the slightest opening. He lunged within striking distance and still Shen hadn’t moved. Jonny slashed at his opponent’s ribs.

Far faster than someone that wrinkled should be, Shen stepped inside his swing, caught Jonny’s wrist, and sent him flying toward the door. He landed on his rope, barely hanging on to his sword. Jonny leapt to his feet, growling deep in the back of his throat.

The old master offered a faint smile. “I haven’t had this much fun in years. Do you wish to go again?”

Damn right he wished to go again. Jonny rushed at Shen, hacking and slashing, stabbing and thrusting. It was like trying to stab the air. No matter what he tried Fo Shen seemed to flow around his blade. Jonny couldn’t touch him.

He backed up after his furious assault, gasping for air. His opponent wasn’t even breathing hard. Jonny seriously doubted Shen even needed his cane.

“Your technique is adequate,” the old master said. “But you use too much muscle and your attacks are obvious. I know what you plan to do an instant after you decide to do it. In a year or two I could teach you to be subtle. Then you would be truly dangerous.”

Jonny seethed as Shen offered his critique. He had always thought of himself as an above-average swordsman. He could stand toe to toe with any of the other guards in the training ring. Yet against a man old enough to be his great-grandfather he couldn’t so much as scratch him.

He straightened up and strode forward. He had to get past Shen to escape the city, so he would. Jonny’s sword snapped out in quick, darting thrusts. Sometimes two or three in quick succession and never in the same spot twice.

It didn’t matter. Shen was smoke and Jonny’s sword every bit as effective against him as it was against smoke.

“Master!”

Fo Shen’s concentration broke for a fraction of a second. Jonny’s sword pierced his stomach and punched out his back.

Shen slumped to the floor. Jonny spun and found a teenage boy in a red and gold uniform standing in the doorway, his fists balled and his legs wide in a deep fighting stance.

“You killed the grandmaster!”

The wounded man groaned.

“He’s still alive, boy. If you run for a healer he might be alive when you get back. Fight me and even if you win he’ll still die. Choose.”

Every muscle in the boy’s body tensed then he turned and ran. Jonny sighed. He really hadn’t wanted to fight another Iron Path warrior. Especially a young one that actually wanted to kill him.

He ran over to his rope, coiled it up, and ran for the steps.

As he passed, Fo Shen grabbed his pant leg. Jonny stopped and looked down.

“Thank you for sparing the boy.”

Jonny shook his head and pulled his pant leg free. He looked at his sword then at the old man. Jonny cleaned the blade on his tabard and sheathed it. Whether Shen lived or died Jonny would be long gone. He’d let fate decide.

A
lden and Imogen
flew low above the city, getting a firsthand look at the destruction. This was what they’d been reduced to, flying around and looking. They had no idea where to go or who to talk to. Every lead they’d had was either dead or useless. As far as they were concerned Jonny Linn might as well be a ghost.

“We should help with the cleanup,” Alden said. “We’d have as good a chance of finding him as we do just randomly searching.”

“Do as you wish. I mean to keep looking.”

Alden shook his head. Imogen was taking Jonny’s escape personally. He almost felt bad for the former guard. If she ever got a hold of him it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Help! Please!”

Alden didn’t know what it was about the desperate cry that made it stand out from every other call he’d heard in the past several hours, but whatever it was he focused on a figure in red waving his arms. It looked like a teenager and he was staring up at the two sorcerers.

Alden started down.

“What are you doing?” Imogen asked.

“That boy’s signaling us. I’m going to check it out.”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“Maybe, but flying back and forth isn’t doing us much good. A two-minute conversation isn’t going to make or break us.”

“It might,” Imogen said, her voice grim.

Alden landed beside the boy and, despite her complaining, Imogen joined him.

“What’s wrong, son?” Alden asked.

“The grandmaster. He stabbed the grandmaster. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t distracted him…”

“Slow down. Take a breath. Who stabbed who where?”

“The man was dressed like a guard. He stabbed the grandmaster in our dojo. I’m a student of the Iron Path. Please, the grandmaster is still alive. You have to help me.”

Imogen and Alden looked at each other for a moment. She described Jonny to the boy. “Was that him?”

“Yes, ma’am. Will you come?”

“Lead the way,” Alden said.

The Iron Path dojo was only a three-minute run away. They rounded a corner in time to see someone leap from the roof over to the wall. Imogen raced toward him. Alden watched her a moment then looked to the boy, his face a mask of concern. Imogen could handle a simple guardsman on her own.

“Where’s your master?”

The boy slumped with relief. He grabbed Alden’s wrist and practically dragged him through the doors into the dojo. An old man lay on the floor twenty feet inside, a pool of blood quickly spreading around him. Alden conjured more light and ran over to him.

The grandmaster’s breathing was shallow and his hands were clenched around his stomach. Alden gently moved his hands aside to expose the wound. He winced. Jonny had run him clean through.

A stream of healing energy leapt from Alden’s hands. It would take a while, but he could fix everything. Whether the grandmaster had the strength to recover after the healing was out of Alden’s control.

J
onny hurled
the coil of rope across the gap between the dojo roof and wall. The coil slid across the walkway and stopped against a crenellation. Now if he could make the jump as easily he’d be all set. He unbuckled his mail and shrugged out of it. Every extra pound might be the difference between making it and falling to a broken leg.

He backed up to the far edge of the roof, took a steadying breath, and sprinted toward the wall. He reached the edge of the roof and leapt. His legs flailed as he sailed across the gap, like he was swimming through the air. His midsection slammed into the walkway on the top of the wall, driving the air out of his lungs. His fingers scrambled and his boots skidded off the wall.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself up over on to the walkway. He lay there for a second panting and counting his blessings.

“Jonathan Linn!”

What now? He turned his head to see a furiously scowling blond sorcerer flying toward him. Under any other circumstances the sight of a woman that beautiful moving in his direction would have filled Jonny with joy. Now all he could do was curse his bad luck.

He scrambled to his feet. A moment later golden bands formed around his legs and chest, pinning him in place. Jonny struggled, but he had more hope of smashing down the wall with his head than he had of escaping the sorcerer’s binding.

She landed beside him, no less terrifying and gorgeous up close than she had been at a distance. Maybe whatever was in the satchel could help. Jonny struggled to reach it, wrenching his torso and forearms around.

“Don’t waste your time,” the sorcerer said. “There’s no way you can break those bands. You’re coming with me and before I’m finished you’ll tell me everything you know about Connor Blackman and his plans.”

Now Jonny knew he was in trouble. Who the hell was Connor Blackman? No way the red tabards would believe he didn’t know anything. The tips of his fingers brushed the flap of the satchel. Just a little more.

He gave a mighty tug and screamed in pain when his shoulder dislocated. His hand slipped into the satchel. Smooth, cold metal greeted his fingers. A moment later pain unlike anything he’d ever felt coursed up his arm and across his chest. It felt like the life was being ripped out of him.

The bands vanished freeing his arms and legs.

“No!” The woman screamed and sent blasts of golden light at him.

They vanished just like the bands. Jonny smiled through the pain. Whatever he had kept the sorcerer’s power from reaching him. He dug the cylindrical object out—it looked like an urn—and held it toward her. Black lightning streaked out.

She moaned and collapsed.

Jonny wasn’t far behind, only sheer willpower kept him on his feet. He slammed the urn back into the satchel and tore his fingers free. The pain vanished along with the crackling lightning. He didn’t have long. Every sorcerer in the city probably sensed that outburst.

He tied the rope around one of the crenellations and threw it over the wall. He grabbed it and slid down, his already raw hands burning. He hit the ground and ran for the tree line. If he got out of sight before they spotted him he could disappear, find his contact, and trade the urn for a new start. Somewhere far away from the capital.

A
lden knelt beside the grandmaster
, sealing his wounds and reconnecting severed intestines. The wound looked far worse than it was. Someone not trained in healing would have feared the patient had no chance, but he knew better. No major arteries had been hit so he had plenty of time to repair the damage. After a minute or two he had the majority of his patient’s wounds sealed.

A deep, masculine scream pierced the air. Sounded like Imogen had gotten her man. He wasn’t worried about his partner killing their prisoner. Despite her constant anger, Imogen was a professional. While he wouldn’t put it past her to start the questioning a little early, she wouldn’t do him any permanent harm.

Hopefully.

He’d barely returned his attention to his patient when another scream echoed through the dojo, this one decidedly feminine in character. How in heaven’s name had a nobody like Jonny Linn gotten the drop on Imogen?

Alden looked from his still-bleeding patient to where he’d heard Imogen’s scream. Imogen needed him, but he couldn’t just leave a bleeding man.

He felt it then. The corrupt power of the urn. Somehow Jonny had activated it and used it on Imogen. How had he managed it? The little research they’d done suggested it required a sorcerer to activate the urn. That was why they hadn’t been concerned about Carmen using it.

Damn it! What should he do?

Alden checked the grandmaster’s wounds again and found most of them closed. The main gash in his abdomen still gaped open, but the bleeding had slowed. Some time during his treatment the old man had lost consciousness.

He turned to the boy. “Stay with him. Keep pressure on the wound. I have to check on my partner, but I’ll be back.”

The boy stared at him with wide eyes. Alden put him out of his mind, rushed out of the dojo, and flew up on the wall where he’d seen Jonny jump the gap. Imogen was lying unconscious on the walkway. There was no blood at least. She didn’t have so much as a bruise.

Alden knelt beside her. Imogen’s soul force was still flowing, but her core had been drained. He checked her pulse to confirm what his sorcerous vision was telling him. He found it strong and steady.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. She’d be okay. He couldn’t guess how long she’d be out, but he felt confident she would eventually wake up.

A rope was tied to the wall, no doubt how their prey had escaped. Alden looked out across the open ground. A figure was running east toward the tree line. That had to be Jonny Linn.

Alden ground his teeth. Everything in him screamed that he should pursue the man, but he couldn’t leave Imogen and the grandmaster. Not to mention it would be the height of stupidity to chase after Jonny before he knew how to counteract the effects of the urn. For now he had no choice but to let the bastard escape.

But only for now. Sooner or later they’d catch him. He only hoped it was before Jonny delivered the urn to Connor Blackman.

Alden conjured a disk under his partner and carried her back to the dojo. He set Imogen on the floor well away from the pool of blood. There was nothing he could do for her right now so he returned to his original patient.

“Is your friend okay?” the boy asked.

“She will be.” Hopefully. “Let’s see about getting your master back on his feet.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy knelt and touched his head to the floor. “I don’t know how we can thank you for saving the grandmaster.”

Alden patted his back. “No thanks are necessary. Looking after the peoples’ wellbeing is our job. I only wish I’d gotten here soon enough to keep him from getting hurt in the first place.”

An hour later he had the grandmaster sealed up, and all his injuries fused back together. He’d be sore for a few days and have a nasty scar, but should make a full recovery. For the last five minutes of his healing Imogen had been groaning and thrashing around on the floor. Her core was almost full and he hoped she’d wake up soon.

His young friend had run off a minute ago and just when Alden was starting to wonder where he’d gone, the boy emerged from a side door carrying a shallow basin of water. He set it beside Alden who gratefully began washing the blood from his hands. One of the advantages of a red tabard was the blood hardly showed.

He’d just finished drying his hands when Imogen groaned even louder and sat up. Her head snapped toward Alden. “He escaped!”

“I’m afraid so. I caught a glimpse of him entering the forest, but lost track of him after that.”

“You didn’t go after him?” Imogen tried to climb to her feet and failed.

“Considering what happened to you and the fact that I had a dying man to heal, I decided pursuit would be too risky. When you’ve recovered and we figure out how to deal with the urn, we can resume the hunt.”

“I’m fine.” She made it to her knees this time before slumping back to the floor.

“Clearly. What do you think about resting for another hour or two then going to talk to the archmage?”

She sighed. “We don’t have much choice, but she’s not going to be very happy.”